


Whumptober 2020 w/ Mike and Co.

by Mixx_Fandom



Category: Total Drama (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abuse, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, HEAVILY implied/referenced child abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, More tags will be added as new chapters are added, PLEASE READ THE TAGS FOR TW, Please take care of yourselves, Whump, Whumptober 2020, implied alcoholism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26851120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixx_Fandom/pseuds/Mixx_Fandom
Summary: These are a collection of prompts for Whumptober 2020 featuring Mike and the gang. I will not be doing all the prompts, but I will be trying to do as many as I can. PLEASE TAKE THE TAGS SERIOUSLY, especially if the story contains content that can be triggering. I’m writing these in order to cope with my own trauma and experiences, as I am neurodivergent as well. I am not romanticizing anything in these prompts. Please take care of yourselves and read with caution.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27





	1. No.5 Failed Escape

**Author's Note:**

> TW: child ab*se, heavily/implied child ab*se, heavily/implied alc*holism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: child ab*se, heavily referenced/implied child ab*se, heavily referenced/implied alc*holism

**_‘Mike, we need to make a run for it’,_ ** Mike heard the voice in his head say. He knows that it wasn’t just a voice. It was another person. It had to be, even if Papa and Mama said that it wasn’t. 

_“But what if Papa catches us?”,_ Mike thinks back to the voice.

He’s currently behind the couch, and he is pretty sure his father is asleep because he hears snoring. At least he hopes so.

The door to the backyard was left open on accident after his father had gotten a beer from the fridge outside. He either did not bother to close it, or he was too inebriated to notice. Either one could be a likely answer.

**_‘He will if we don’t go right now’,_ ** the voice sounded annoyed as it almost always was.

_Plop_

Mike froze. He looked over the side of the couch to see if the plop was his father or something else.

It was an empty beer can. He would’ve let out a sigh of relief, if he wasn’t trying his hardest to be quiet.

_“It was just a can…”_ Mike reassured himself.

**_‘Michael, if you don’t go right now, I'm taking over the body! Do you want to die here?’ ,_ **The voice yelled at him.

_“I’m sorry. I’ll go”,_ Mike responded. 

Mike slowly turned toward the back door that led to the backyard. 

He started crawling toward it. He had a backpack with some food and water. The voice said that they would need it if they were going to live on their own. Mike was scared and unsure of the idea, but he was more scared of staying at his house.

He eventually reached the door, and now here was the hardest point, or so he thought. 

The door was open. However, it was not open enough for him to make his way through, so he’d have to push the door open a bit more. 

It would have been fine if the door was silent, but all the doors in the house creaked. He just hoped that the back door wasn’t as bad as some of the others.

He started to push the door open, and it didn’t creak. His rapid breathing did not ease though. He pushed on it agai-

_Creak_

Mike froze once again and was almost for sure that he would black out, and the voice in his head would take control of his body.

Luckily, he continued to hear undisturbed snoring.

**_‘Be careful! Are you trying to get us killed?’,_ ** the voice sounded demanding and angry. However, it sounded just as scared as Mike was. 

_“I’m sorry! I’m trying to. Why don’t you do it yourself?”,_ Mike shot back, but didn’t get any response from the voice.

Thankfully, the door was open enough for him to crawl through now.

He made his way to the opening until his hands and feet both touched the wood that made up the back porch. He slowly sat on his knees, before cautiously standing up. He took a deep breath.

**_‘What are you waiting for? Go!’,_ **the voice shouted at him once again with a mix of fear and frustration.

_“Give me a second! I’m trying to not be loud.”_ Mike attempted to reassure the voice.

He can’t believe he made it this far. He slowly took steps towards the porch’s steps. He tried to not make the wood creak, as to not disturb his father’s slumber. 

He stepped on the first step.

_“So far so good.”_

He was going to step on the second one until he was disturbed by the chirp of a bird. At that moment, the sudden sound and gravity worked against him at the same time. 

He ended up twisting his left ankle as he attempted to step down on the next step and he went tumbling down the stairs. 

Mike let out a yelp.

He was now lying on ground that was practically just dirt except for a few patches of green here and there. He slowly sat up and looked down at his now swollen and sprained ankle. He went to touch it, but then…

“MICHAEL!”, a voice yelled. 

He whimpered. It was Papa’s voice.

All he heard was his father’s footsteps before blacking out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, I do not have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and I will take any constructive criticism in order to make my portrayal of it not abl*est. I suffer from a mental disorder myself, and offending and disrespecting others is the last thing I’d want to do. https://did-research.org/ is a very helpful site, and the youtube channel MultiplicityAndMe shares a personal experience as to what DID is like. I recommend that y’all do your own research of the disorder. Please take care of yourselves!


	2. Alt.6 Altered States

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: dissociation, implied/referenced self h*rm 
> 
> (This was one of the alternative prompts. I chose this one over the original prompt because I felt that it really suited Mike.)

Mike was sitting on his bed, or what he could sense or feel of it anyways. It didn’t feel real, and nothing on it surrounding it, felt real as well. His entire room felt fake. It was as if someone had created a cartoon and tried to remake it with 3d objects. It just all felt fake.

He felt fake too. The body he was in wasn’t his. It was just a shell that encompassed him. It was almost suffocating. 

He hated when he felt like this. It would always happen at times where he was alone, and he couldn’t seek anyone for any sense of comfort. Zoey was at her job, and his foster parents are finally spending time with each other at a fancy restaurant. One that Mike had actually suggested them to go to. 

Sometimes Mike was able to ground himself easily, but at times like these he found it so hard to convince himself that his surroundings were real and that this was actually his body. 

And that was the thing… Was this body truly _his_? 

How could this be his body, if it also belonged to five others? 

How could this room be real, if his mind his whole life has hidden things and tricked him into thinking everything was fine and stable? 

Mike looked down at his hands. He saw two figures that seemed to be molded by clay. He was able to move them, but it felt so disconnected. It was almost as if someone or something else was moving or telling them what to do. 

But thank god he wasn’t in front of a mirror. 

Mirrors would just make it worse. 

Whenever he looked in a mirror at a time like this, he felt uncomfortable, wrong, like he was invading someone’s privacy. It made his skin crawl, and he would become frustrated. 

This is his body, this is real, so why doesn’t he feel that way?

It felt like he was watching his body from someone else’s point of view. Like his soul was being forcibly taken from his body, and he was powerless to stop it.

There were different grounding techniques he used, but the most effective one was others acknowledging his existence which he currently was not able to do obtain. 

Apparently the others felt this way sometimes as well. Mal had told him about it. It was nice that Mal was finally not spending every second hating him or the other alters.

However, his grounding techniques unfortunately caused some distress when Mike or one of the others would take control of the body. 

Oftentimes, Mike would find the body covered in red scars, some new, and some old ones. Apparently, pain helped Mal feel real.

Mike could never bring himself to do that though.

Most of the time, his grounding consisted of lighting a candle with the scent of lavender, counting the fingers on his hands, or wrapping himself in a blanket. 

However, the melting wax, his playdough-like hands, and the fuzziness surrounding him was _not_ helping. This would eventually pass, but dear god was it horrible. 

He thought he would be like this forever until he heard the ringing from his phone. 

His phone was laying on his night stand, so he had to lean over to pick it up. 

He looked at the screen, and the caller ID read “Zoey”. Mike didn’t know if he could smile though. He felt happy, but it was so distant.

He hit the accept button.

“Hey Mike! I got off work a bit early. Would you like to go to Baskin-Robbins? Only if your not busy though!”, he heard his girlfriend's voice. 

“Oh-uh yeah, sure! What time do you want to go?”, he responded as he sat up straight on his bed.

“How about 4? We could meet each other there”, she asked. 

Mike took his phone from his ear for a second to look at the time. 

_‘3:30’_

“Yeah, uh sure. That sounds great. See you then” , Mike said back.

“See you there. Love you, bye”, Zoey said.

“Love you too” , Mike ended the call with a smile on his face.

He set his phone down on his bed and sighed.

**_“Disgusting”_ ** _,_ Mike suddenly heard a deep voice from his mind say.

Mike rolled his eyes. 

_“Whatever, Mal”_ he threw his thoughts back at the voice.

He looked at his closet and at the bracelet on the desk beside it that Zoey had got him. 

Everything suddenly felt a bit more real, and he knew he was Mike. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, I do not have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and I will take any constructive criticism in order to make my portrayal of it not abl*est. I suffer from a mental disorder myself, and offending and disrespecting others is the last thing I’d want to do. https://did-research.org/ is a very helpful site, and the youtube channel MultiplicityAndMe shares a personal experience as to what DID is like. I recommend that y’all do your own research of the disorder. Please take care of yourselves!


	3. Alt.9 Memory Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Reference child neglect
> 
> I’ve been a bit busy with school, so sorry for having a kind of late update. 
> 
> Btw, I used an alternative prompt again because I felt that it fit Mike more than the original. 
> 
> There also may be some grammar mistakes, so sorry about that lol.

Mike was very confused when he looked at the date on his classroom’s chalkboard

“It’s October 2?” he asked, not necessarily directing the question to anyone specific.

But apparently Mike’s teacher heard as she turned from her desk to look at him. She had been sorting papers. 

“Yes, Mike, what day did you think it was?” Mrs. Arnold smiled while asking the 10 year old.

“September 26.” He stated.

He remembered what he did on the day before as well. In class, he had reviewed what they learned in 4th grade about food webs. The teacher had separated the kids into groups. Each group was required to create a food web with at least five animals, two plants, and one decomposer. 

He remembered his team members as well, Ashley and Thomas. 

He remembered that the poster was blue.

He remembered being the one who wrote the title with a black marker.

So why couldn’t he remember anything that happened in the six days after?

Mrs. Arnold looked surprised at first, but then chuckled a bit.

She looked down at the boy,”Oh, Mike. You really are a good comedian. Have you ever thought about becoming an actor? You’re really good at impersonations and accents after all.” 

Mike really liked Mrs. Arnold, she would always help him with his work, and would give him free snacks. She was so much nicer than Ms. Fields. 

Ms. Fields was his 4th grade teacher. She would yell at him sometimes and would complain about him “acting like someone else,” or something along the lines of that. But to be honest, Mike could never remember doing anything that she accused him of doing .

He didn’t know how to imitate any accents. He had only learned what an accent really was last year.

“Uh, yeah. I have thought about becoming an actor, but I really don't remember what happened yesterday… or the other days,” Mike looked up at his teacher.

His teacher tilted his head, “Are you sure?” 

Mike nodded his head.

Mrs. Arnold furrowed her brows and started to look a little worried. 

“Can you try to tell me anything about what happened at school yesterday?” she asked.

Mike tried to get any pieces of memory of what happened yesterday but failed to come up with anything. Normally, when he forgot stuff, he would be able to get bits and pieces of images or stuff he had heard and combine them together in order to get a general idea of what happened. However, this time, Mike could not remember a thing.

Mike shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t remember anything,” He looked down at his shoes.

Mrs. Arnold was concerned as she looked down at the child.

“Did you hit your head?” She asked him as an attempt to get any other answer.

He shook his head again.

“Not that I know of. I may have, but I can’t remember a thing of what happened. I’m sorry,” Mike looked ashamed as he apologized.

Mrs. Arnold had noticed how small the boy was, not necessarily in height, but he was extremely skinny. She had asked the child, if he was eating enough at lunch, and he would always say that he was. She had doubts about Mike’s health though. 

“Are you hungry Mike?” she asked him.

Mike looked back up at his teacher. 

“Yes ma’am. I forgot to eat breakfast today,” he said after he nodded.

Mike had forgotten to eat breakfast that day, but some days, breakfast wasn’t even an option in the first place.

“I could get some pop tarts from the vending machine down the hall. Would you like that?” she questioned.

He nodded once again,”Yes ma’am. I’d like that very much,” he responded with a smile on his face. He really liked Mrs. Arnold.

She smiled back in order to hide her worry from the child. She knew that she needed to bring this up to the school nurse. 

As she walked down, the hallway to the vending machine, she had begun to wonder what Mike’s home life was like. 

_ ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met his parents. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve even seen them.’ _

* * *

Mike was waiting at his desk as other children filled the other desks. It was still pretty early, but Mike always liked to get to class a good 30 minutes before it actually started. 

It had been 10 minutes since his teacher had left, and he started to wonder why it was taking so long for her to get back. However, he suddenly stopped thinking that. 

_ ‘She was very nice to get me food. I should appreciate it and not be disrespectful,’  _ he thought to himself.

Mike heard the door open and he saw Mrs. Arnold, but he also saw Nurse Dean and Ms. Patterson, one of the counselors. He still didn’t know what a counselor actually did. 

“Here are the pop tarts. I hope you like cherry,” Mrs. Arnold handed him the packaged pastry with a smile on her face.

Nurse Dean came up to him after Mrs. Arnold handed him his breakfast.

“Hey Mike. You can bring your pop tarts with you, but Ms. Patterson and I want you to come to the office with us. You're not in trouble or anything. I just need to check up on you to see why you haven’t been remembering things. Is that alright?” She squatted a bit as she tried to speak to him.

Mike nodded. “Yes ma’am that’s okay,” he responded. 

Nurse Dean put out her hand towards him, and Mike grasped onto it with his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, I do not have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and I will take any constructive criticism in order to make my portrayal of it not abl*est. I suffer from a mental disorder myself, and offending and disrespecting others is the last thing I’d want to do. https://did-research.org/ is a very helpful site, and the youtube channel MultiplicityAndMe shares a personal experience as to what DID is like. I recommend that y’all do your own research of the disorder. Please take care of yourselves!


	4. No.11 Defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied/referenced child ab*se (very subtle, but just making sure), some swearing
> 
> This is late because I’ve been busy with school, but I wanted to post it anyways. I hope there isn’t too many grammar mistakes. orz

“I said fuck off!” Mal yelled at the woman from the seat he was forced to sit in

The woman wasn’t fazed. She had been shouted at, berated, and nearly attacked by the kids and teenagers that she counseled.

“Michael, we need to talk,” Ms. Barton said harshly, but with a slight hint of care. 

Mal wasn’t able to leave the room. There were guards outside making sure he didn’t skip out on his time with his juvenile detention counselor.

“You can just look up what I’m here for, so why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?” Mal bit back at her.

She sighed.

“Michael, I want you to be able to tell me yourself. I need your trust,” she responded.

Mal scoffed and rolled his eyes. He looked off to the side wall of the room and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Micha-“ she was about to call out to him again, but was interrupted.

“I’m not Mike! How many times do I have to say that?” Mal shouted.

He was on the edge of the seat, ready to run away from or push away the woman if she came any closer to him. 

Ms. Barton sighed again and looked down at her hands as she twiddled her thumbs.

“Yes, sorry. I’ve heard that you go Mal now...” She apologized, but it didn’t sound much like one.

Mal wanted to leave this room. This was torture and far more worse that any kick or punch another kid could inflict on the body. 

“Why?” The counselor abruptly asked him.

Mal turned his head at her quickly.

_ ‘What the hell is she asking?’  _ he was about to say out loud but was then soon interrupted.

“Sorry, that was very vague. What I mean is, why do you not go by Michael? Why did you change your name?” she asked a series of questions.

Mal rolled his eyes once again.

“I’ve never been Michael or Mike. I am Mal. I’m not Mike,” he put emphasis on his and Mike’s names. 

Ms. Barton was fairly confused.

“What do you mean by that? That you aren’t Michael?”

she inquired.

Mal sat back in the wooden chair with his hair covering one of his eyes and crossed arms.

“I don’t have to explain anything you,” he responded.

She sighed once again.

“Michae-“ 

Mal glared at her.

“Mal… I can’t help you, if you don’t tell me anything,” she sounded worn out.

He chuckled,”Tough shit.” 

There was a quietness in the room after that statement. The clock on the wall’s presence became known as the silence between the 13 year old boy and the counselor grew longer. 

“Where is Michael, or Mike, as you referred to him as before?” she persisted with questioning the child.

Mal glared at her again. 

“He’s out of commission at the moment. Sorry, about that,” he began the sentence with a sharp tongue and ended it with a mocking smile.

“Out of commission, so are you implying that you and Mike are different people?” she asked.

All she got in response was yet another glare.

“I’m going to be taking that as a possibly,” she wrote some notes down on her clipboard.

Mal was digging his nails into his shirt. It didn’t go unnoticed by Ms. Barton.

She looked up from his hands.

“I guess the main question is, where is Mike?” she said.

Mal averted his eyes from her.

Michael, or Mal, was a very difficult case for her. Most of the kids that she comes across, either say nothing, yell at or attack her, or actually cooperate. 

This kid was a mix of all of them.

He wants to be helped, but doesn’t. He tells her things, but then refuses to. He yells at her, and then says nothing.

This child was simultaneously defending, attacking, and longing for help all at the same time.

She knew that she would probably further receive the silent treatment, so she decided to skip asking questions regarding his identity.

“So, Mal. Can you tell me about your life before you got sent here?” 

He begrudgingly looked back at her.

“What about it?” he asked her.

“Well, for starters, what did you do for fun?” she encouraged him to try to tell her anything.

“I don’t do fun,” Mal responded with a snarl.

Silence once again fell over the room, after Mal’s response. Ms. Barton was desperate to get this kid to tell her anything, and he was desperate to be anywhere but here. Well, maybe not anywhere. There’s a couple of places he would never like to visit again. 

_ ‘Maybe, I’m asking about the wrong person,’  _ the counselor concluded.

“What did Mike do for fun?” she questioned.

Mal glared at her even more if that was even possible.

“He rode his bicycle a lot,” he stated plainly, with a hint of annoyance.

“He rode a bicycle for fun?” she repeated his words.

“So, you can hear,” Mal snapped back.

She still wasn’t fazed by his rude remarks.

“What about your parents? Can you tell me anything about them?” Ms. Barton asked.

Mal froze up, and muttered something under his breath. He kept his attention towards the office’s floor.

“Mal?” she attempted to get his attention. 

He looked up at her and glared, once again giving her the silent treatment.

She was about to ask another question before-

_ beep beep beep _

She sighed,”Well, looks like our time is up. See you next week, Mal.”. She smiled at him.

“Thank fuck,” he said his final words as he pushed off from his chair and made his way to the door. 

He made sure to slam the door on the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, I do not have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and I will take any constructive criticism in order to make my portrayal of it not abl*est. I suffer from a mental disorder myself, and offending and disrespecting others is the last thing I’d want to do. https://did-research.org/ is a very helpful site, and the youtube channel MultiplicityAndMe shares a personal experience as to what DID is like. I recommend that y’all do your own research of the disorder. Please take care of yourselves!


	5. No.20 Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Smoking
> 
> Hey, It’s been about a week. Sorry, for not uploading sooner. I’ve been EXTREMELY busy with school. Look up what Texas Drill Teams are if you want to know what kind of stuff I’ve been doing. Yep, I’m Texan. Yeehaw or whatever.
> 
> Anyways, this may have a lot of grammar mistakes, but I hope this can be a good stand in until I write a longer chapter. :) 
> 
> P.S, i’m American and not Canadian, so the portrayal of Canadian orphanages may not be accurate. Sorry, lol.

_ ‘Ow, my head’  _ He felt a rush of pain.

Mike woke up on grass and not the usual bed that he slept on at the orphanage. 

He pushed himself from the ground and attempted to sit up. He almost immediately put his left hand up to his still-throbbing head, right arm supporting his body weight on the ground.

He felt a bit itchy too.

_ ‘Probably got bit by ants or mosquitoes, or maybe just grass’ _

He started to look over his body, open to possibly discovering multiple bug bites. 

After he inspected his person, Mike decided to stand up. It was difficult with his head aching, legs and arms itchy, and his stomach felt empty.

The 12 year old had been living at an orphanage for a couple of months now. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t spectacular. However, he doesn’t think he really has anything to compare it to. Mike’s been trying to remember the house he grew up in, but he can’t. The thing is, it’s only been a couple of months since he was sent to the orphanage.

So how could he forget something like that so fast? 

The tan boy was thankful that it was day though. If it was night, he would’ve started freaking out by now.

But still…

_ ‘Where am I?’  _ Mike thought to himself.

These “Amnesia spells’ he heard a worker at the orphanage call it have become quite common. The main cause for this are the people that reside in his head. But the thing is, is that they felt real. It feels like he’s known them for his entire life, yet they are separate from him. They were far beyond imaginary friends.

Apparently, he had done stuff that he hadn’t remembered doing. He vaguely remembers this happening at school as well. 

He attempted to stand up as his head pounded and knees wobbled. Putting his hands on his knees, he finally managed to stand up straight. 

Mike glanced at his surroundings once again.

“Great, I’m lost,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

_ ‘Ve should go somewhere with phone,’  _ He heard one of the people in his head say. 

Mike was always confused by this voice in particular. All the other voices we’re deep, while this voice sounded like a woman's. It didn’t make sense why all of the voices sounded different if they were apparently all just his own thoughts. Plus, it was more like someone was telling him what to do, just from inside his head.

_‘Okay,’_ he responded, well **thought** , back. 

Mike knew that it was probably just his own thoughts, but he felt like he needed to be polite. It was almost as if this thought that **definitely** **was** **_his_ ** _ ,  _ came from someone else. 

However, that couldn’t be possible. Right? 

* * *

It seemed like he had been walking on the sidewalk forever until he spotted a convenience store. 

He sighed in relief. 

The store wasn’t that worn down, thankfully, and it was pretty nice for what it was.

As he walked up, to the building, he witnessed someone smoking something. 

He was about to walk up further to the store, but he blacked out.

_ And then he came back… _

He looked around his surroundings again. It was probably the quickest blackout he’d ever experienced. Because, now he was in the store, right by the door he was going to walk up to and push, but apparently someone else did it for him.

Mike looked at the front desk of the store.

There was an old lady stacking up some gum packets on the counter.

He twiddled nervously, as he walked up to the desk.

“Hey! What do you need?”, she asked him.

Mike noticed her name tag.

“Well um…” he glanced at the name tag again,”Ms. Shelly?”.

She smiled back at him as a way to tell him he got her name right. 

“I’m lost, a-and I was wondering if I could use your phone?” he asked her nervously, fiddling with his shirt. 

She stood up straight.

“Sure thing sweetie! You know your parent’s phone numbers, right?” Shelly had a huge grin on her face.

Mike could’ve sworn he head something in the back of his mind.

“Um, no, I’m actually from an orphanage,” he looked down at his shoes, a bit embarrased.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I hope I didn’t upset you,” she became a bit embarrassed as well. 

“It’s okay,” Mike responded in a small voice. 

She pushed something over to the front of the desk.

“Here’s the phone! Also, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get lost in the first place,” she questioned him.

“Well to be honest, I don’t remember. I think that I must have hit my head,” he answered, not telling her the entire truth on what he thought happened.

The boy pulled the phone a bit closer to him, and dialed in the number of the orphanage that he was forced to memorize.

“Hello, this is Belleville Orphan Care Center. How can I help you?”, he heard a lady on the phone say. 

“Hi, uh, It’s Michael Chiarelli,” He stated.

The woman on the phone sighed.

“Again, Michael?” she asked.

“Sorry…” He responded.

“Could you tell me where you are right now?” the lady asked him.

He took the phone from his ear a little bit. 

He asked the woman at the front desk the store’s address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, I do not have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and I will take any constructive criticism in order to make my portrayal of it not abl*est. I suffer from a mental disorder myself, and offending and disrespecting others is the last thing I’d want to do. https://did-research.org/ is a very helpful site, and the youtube channel MultiplicityAndMe shares a personal experience as to what DID is like. I recommend that y’all do your own research of the disorder. Please take care of yourselves!

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder, I do not have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and I will take any constructive criticism in order to make my portrayal of it not abl*est. I suffer from a mental disorder myself, and offending and disrespecting others is the last thing I’d want to do. https://did-research.org/ is a very helpful site, and the youtube channel MultiplicityAndMe shares a personal experience as to what DID is like. I recommend that y’all do your own research of the disorder. Please take care of yourselves!


End file.
